


for a long, long time

by katsumi



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Minor Monty Green/Nathan Miller, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-28 09:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10828854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsumi/pseuds/katsumi
Summary: Bellamy personally thinks it's a pretty ridiculous idea to get a spontaneous tattoo, but he's not going to say that to Clarke's face. Heavily hint it, sure, but notsayit.





	for a long, long time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jennycaakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennycaakes/gifts).



> Pure fluff based around Eliza and Jarod getting matching tattoos. Jenn was like "this should be fic" and I replied "this SHOULD be fic" and then this happened. I changed the placement of their tattoos (in real life, they got arrow finger tattoos) because this is fiction and I have that kind of power here.
> 
> Also, I have never gotten a tattoo, so, I cannot promise that any of the information about tattoos herein is in any way accurate.

“Hey,” Clarke calls, as soon as Bellamy pushes open the door, “what are your thoughts on bows and arrows?”

Bellamy blinks. He’s still flushed and sweaty from his run, which he’d woken up entirely too early for (damn Octavia and her insistence that running a half marathon together would constitute “fun sibling bonding”). In fact, it’s _still_ early—on a Saturday, no less—so he’s not fully prepared to see Clarke and Miller squished onto the couch, hunched over a laptop spread out on Clarke’s lap.

“Huh?”

“Bows and arrows,” Miller repeats. “You for or against?”

“I need more information than that,” says Bellamy, swinging the door closed behind him and dumping his and Miller’s mail on the side table. “Am I judging based on whether the bow is my weapon of choice?”

“You’re judging it aesthetically,” says Clarke. Bellamy realizes, somewhat absently, that she’s dressed entirely in his clothes—his favorite pair of sweatpants and an enormous old Red Sox t-shirt. They’ve been dating for almost a year now, but still: that sight never gets old.

“Aesthetically?”

“Do you like how bows and arrows look?” Miller translates, like this should really be obvious. “Do you think they look cool? This isn’t that hard a question.”

“Uh. Sure?”

Clarke frowns. “I don’t know. I’m second-guessing it.”

Miller nods. “That’s fine. You’ve gotta be sure. Hey—” He points to something on the computer screen. “How about this? More your speed?”

“Wait,” says Bellamy. “What’s going on?”

The lump of blankets next to Miller starts wriggling, and then Monty’s head pokes out, messy tufts of black hair sticking up in all directions. He presses his cheek to Miller’s thigh and glances up at Bellamy.

“Tattoos,” he croaks. (Monty’s never been much of a morning person.)

“Huh?”

“We’re looking up tattoos,” says Miller, patting Monty’s head.

“You’re getting another one?” Bellamy lost count of Miller’s tattoos a while ago. He seems to pick them up at random, which indicates a very cavalier attitude towards _permanent body marks_ that Bellamy’s never quite understood. But Miller pulls them off, which is probably all that really matters.

Miller shrugs. “I mean, yeah probably. But the bigger deal is that Clarke’s going to get her first one.”

_That_ comes as a surprise. He turns to Clarke, eyes wide.

“Seriously?”

Clarke shrugs, like this isn’t that big a deal. (She’s been spending too much time with Miller.) “I mean, why not?”

“Well it’s art that’s going to stay on your body _for life_ ,” says Bellamy, a little peevishly. “So it should probably take a little more thinking than _why not._ ”

“I’ve thought about it,” Clarke replies, not even looking up from the screen. “For like...an hour or so, now?”

“Hour and a half,” Monty adds, eyes closed. “I know, because she woke us up two hours before our alarm to talk through ideas. I should still be asleep right now.”

“You’re basically asleep right now,” says Miller, running his fingers through Monty’s hair. He looks up at Bellamy. “You want one, too? We’re probably heading out around noon.”

“Noon _today_?” Bellamy is aware that the way his jaw is dropping probably constitutes an overreaction, but still. “You can’t get a tattoo you only just thought of this morning.”

“You definitely can,” says Miller, easy. “I’ve done it.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Ooh,” says Clarke, ignoring Bellamy entirely, “what do you think about this?”

She tilts the screen towards Miller, who peers at it. “Nice. What kind of bird do you think that is?”

“Not sure. Sparrow?”

“ _Guys_.” At this point, it’s a struggle to keep his voice even. “This is a bad idea. Monty, tell them this is a bad idea.”

“What’s a bad idea?” Monty asks, clearly still on the cusp of sleep.

“Getting a tattoo on a whim.”

“Hmm,” Monty mumbles, “I like tattoos. They’re hot.”

Miller flat out beams.

“Oh relax Bellamy,” says Clarke, finally looking up to throw him a giddy smile. “I’ll make sure it’s tasteful.”

“Yeah, but—”

“So you can either help us look for ideas,” Clarke continues, “or go make us breakfast.”

“Those are my options, huh?”

She grins, and he can’t help but grin back.

He winds up making breakfast—buttermilk pancakes, with extra chocolate chips for Monty—and then squeezing in onto the couch next to Clarke to watch her and Miller scroll through tattoo galleries. The chocolate (predictably) is enough motivation to get Monty vertical, so he joins them, too, leaning over Miller’s shoulder to point out his favorites.

And as much as Bellamy thinks this whole thing is complete nonsense, he’s got to admit: it’s nice to see Clarke like this, all warm energy and buzzing with possibility. Her art history grad program has been really dragging her down, to the point where bags under her eyes and reluctance to move from the couch were starting to seem like permanent fixtures. But now that finals are over and she’s gotten a chance to sleep full nights again, the light’s back in her eyes.

He can’t possibly begrudge that. Even if she’s choosing to devote her newfound energy towards such strange pursuits as impulse tattoos.

When noon rolls around, Clarke and Miller get up to put on some actual clothes in preparation to head down to the parlor. Clarke still hasn’t settled on an idea which, in Bellamy’s opinion, is _ludicrous_ —you can’t just decide at the tattoo parlor, that’s insanity—but he’s not about to say as much.

To Clarke, anyway. Monty’s fair game.

“Are they seriously doing this?”

Monty shrugs, stabbing a spare piece of pancake from Miller’s plate. “Clearly.”

“It’s not that I have a problem with tattoos,” Bellamy clarifies. “They’re fine. I just can’t imagine getting one on a whim.”

Monty smiles. “Neither can I. But I kind of wish I could, you know?”

Bellamy is still considering that when Clarke walks back in, dressed in shorts and a tank top. She smiles at him, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “You coming?”

“Uh—”

A door closes, and then Miller emerges. “How about you, babe?”

“I have very important and un-cancellable plans to play Grand Theft Auto all day,” says Monty, around another bite of pancake. “Bellamy?”

“Yeah,” says Bellamy, a little relieved to be given an out. “Same.”

Clarke seems satisfied with this. She bends over to kiss him—soft and familiar, a habit he still can’t believe he’s lucky enough to experience—and then heads for the door, Miller on her heels.

“I’ll try to stop her from doing something stupid,” says Miller, waving, “but I make no promises.”

The door closes behind them, and Bellamy sinks a little further into the couch cushions, sighing. Monty pats his knee consolingly.

“Video games?” he asks.

Bellamy nods. “Video games.”

 

* * *

 

A few hours of video games turns into Monty pulling up some coding work on his laptop and Bellamy turning on a documentary about the Ottoman Empire. So, a pretty awesome Saturday. He’s gotten used to weekends with all four of them in the apartment, since Jasper tends to bring his girlfriend to his and Monty’s place, and Clarke lives so far away that she prefers to spend time at Bellamy’s. It’s a little crowded, but not in an oppressive way: more than anything, it feels comfortable. Lived in.

The sun is getting low in the sky when Clarke finally texts.

**Clarke  
** Done!  
Miller’s buying me dinner as a reward  
He doesn’t know this yet, but that’s what’s happening

**Bellamy  
** Cool  
Can I see it?

**Clarke  
** The tattoo?  
It’s covered in gauze, so not yet

**Bellamy  
** Later then?

**Clarke  
** No Bellamy I’m never going to show you my tattoo  
It’s going to stay a secret always  
Of course later  
You see me naked on a regular basis, how could I hide it?

**Bellamy  
** Good point

He makes dinner for him and Monty—mac and cheese at Monty’s request—and Bellamy insists they eat it at the table, lest they spend the entire day on the couch. Monty’s halfway through a story about his and Jasper’s most recent trip to the Museum of Science when the door opens and in walk Clarke and Miller, both laughing. It’s an almost strange sight, although he is glad they’re so far past the point of pretending they don’t like each other that they wouldn’t even be able to deny it, now.

“How’d it go?” Bellamy asks.

“It _hurt_ _,”_ says Clarke, but she’s smiling enough to suggest that it must not have hurt all that much.

“It wasn’t that bad,” says Miller. “Gaia knows what she’s doing. I barely felt anything.”

“You?” asks Monty, swiveling to face them. “Did you get one, too?”

“Yep,” says Miller.

“They match!” adds Clarke.

Bellamy has to laugh at that. “Seriously?”

Miller and Clarke both stick out their wrists, palms up, to display two identical arrows trailing along the outer edges of their forearms: precise, thin, delicate. Sure, Miller’s is a tad overshadowed by the constellation of other tattoos already scattered across his left arm, but Clarke’s is...noticeable. Distinct.

Bellamy swallows.

“We went with the arrow but dropped the bow,” Clarke explains.

“Nice!” Monty says, reaching out to slide his hand into Miller’s outstretched palm. “I approve.”

“You say that like I need your approval,” says Miller.

“You don’t _need_ it, but you like it.”

Miller huffs a laugh, ruffling Monty’s hair as he heads for the kitchen.

“Bellamy?” Clarke asks. “Thoughts?”

Bellamy’s still staring—somewhat embarrassingly—at Clarke’s wrist. He jerks his head up.

“It’s fine,” he says. His voice is strangely pinched.

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “Fine?”

“Fine as in, you know. Nice. Good.”

“So,” says Clarke, her smile almost sly, “you like it?”

“I…” He sighs. Might as well just say it. “Honestly? I’m not usually big on tattoos but...Clarke, it’s pretty hot.”

Clarke grins.

“Okay!” says Monty, pushing out of his seat. “I think that’s my cue to go help Nate with something in the kitchen.”

“You used those _exact words_ this morning,” Bellamy points out.

Monty ignores this. “Whatever you’re about to do, wait until I’ve cleared the room, okay?”

“Coward!” calls Clarke. Once Monty’s turned for the kitchen, she looks back at Bellamy, grinning. “Hot, huh?”

He smiles up at her. “Don’t milk it.”

 

* * *

 

Later that night, as they’re climbing into their respective sides of Bellamy’s bed, he turns to her.

“Why matching tattoos?”

Clarke doesn’t even look up from her phone, where it seems she’s writing up a full essay to Raven. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just curious. Seems like if you were going to get matching tattoos with someone, Miller wouldn’t be your first pick.”

“Yeah, he’s the worst,” says Clarke, with no heat at all behind the words. “Why, you jealous?”

Bellamy laughs. “Jealous? Of Miller?”

“Of me,” Clarke corrects, setting her phone on the nightstand and turning to him with a smile. “Miller’s your best friend, yet with whom does he have a matching tattoo? Me.”

“Nice use of ‘whom.’”

“Don’t get excited, we’re having a conversation.”

“Once again,” says Bellamy, for what seems like the tenth time, “correct grammar doesn’t sexually excite me.”

“So you say.”

“I’m not jealous of you. I seriously don’t mind, I just find it funny that my girlfriend has matching tattoos with my roommate. That seems abnormal.”

“Well,” says Clarke, “if it helps, we specifically picked something we thought you’d like, in case you wanted to get one too.”

Bellamy freezes. “You what?”

Clarke leans back against her pillow, shifting to get comfortable and purposefully avoiding his eye.

“An arrow seemed like a safe bet? Miller said it could be evocative enough of mythology and stuff to draw you in.”

Bellamy blinks at her, mind still spinning. “You—what?”

“You don’t have to get one,” says Clarke, looking down at her wrist. “I’m not trying to guilt you into getting one, or anything. We figured you wouldn’t want one. We just thought, might as well keep the door open for the possibility. Monty too, of course.”

“That wouldn’t be too much?”

Clarke raises an eyebrow.

“I mean—tattoos are pretty permanent.”

“Worried your friendship with Miller won’t go the distance?”

“No, I just—it’s different, if you add me, right? Then you and I would be a couple with matching tattoos.”

The corner of Clarke’s mouth tightens. “And that would be too much, is what you’re saying?”

“No.” Bellamy reaches out and finds her palm, lacing his fingers through hers. “I’m not saying that. I’m asking if it would be too much, you know, for you.”

Clarke is quiet. Then she grips his fingers tight, leaning over to rest her cheek against his shoulder.

“It’s not too much for me,” she says, so clear and confident that Bellamy can feel tension he didn’t realize he was carrying unknot at the sound of it.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It would be like when we wear the same color shirt, except neither of us could change and it would be _all the time_.”

“Clarke—”

“It’s not too much, Bellamy.” She burrows a little tighter into his shoulder. “A tattoo lasts as long as I’m planning to keep you.”

Chest tight, Bellamy presses his lips to the crown of her head. His voice comes out soft, cracked.

“Thanks.”

She loops an arm across his stomach, slips her fingers comfortingly beneath the edge of his t-shirt.

“Of course.”

“I’ll think about the tattoo, okay? I’d never thought about getting one before, and I—”

“Bellamy,” she interrupts, stroking a line down his stomach with her thumb. “It’s okay. Take your time, I won’t be offended. Tattoo or no tattoo, I’m still keeping you.”

He takes a deep breath, pulling her tighter.

“Okay. Good.”

 

* * *

 

It’s not until the next morning when he’s lying in bed, sleepily stroking waves down the curve of Clarke’s spine, that it really slots together for him.

“Wait,” he says, voice still thick from sleep. “Miller is my best friend. And yet he has a matching friendship tattoo with _you_.”

“This happened hours ago, but yes,” says Clarke. “I knew you were jealous.”

“I’m not jealous, I’m just—that’s not _right_ , Clarke.”

“I know. Want to go wake him up and yell at him about it?”

Bellamy huffs. “Maybe later. I don’t want Monty to murder me. Besides—” He pulls her closer. “I’m pretty comfortable here.”

Clarke laughs, finding his hand beneath the sheets.

“Me, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> [leralynne](http://leralynne.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


End file.
